Another Day at the Office
by Annabel Lee
Summary: A little piece from Mulder’s POV... Boring day at the office... (RE-POST)


TITLE: Another Day at the Office  
BY Annabel Lee  
DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and its characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX. No copyright infringement is intended; I'm just doing this for fun!  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!  
DISTRIBUTION: Please just tell me where it's going to be, and keep my name attached.  
SUMMARY: A little piece from Mulder's POV... Boring day at the office...  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just a random little thing, hope ya'll enjoy it.   
This is a re-post, but it isn't re-edited...  
  


Another Day at the Office  


  
I can't wait to get home and lie on my old couch, just to gaze thoughtfully at the ceiling. Yeah, it's just one of those days. It seems like every other boring day at the office; don't feel like doing anything constructive. I could sit and look at my computer screen without typing a damn thing... That would at least look half-helpful. No, instead I just sit back and stare at the wall until I think my eyes might bust.  
  
I hear Scully's voice, but don't let it register. I don't move, just continue to stare. Staring is my world right now. I must focus all of my energy into staring. Maybe the wall will crack, who knows? Just focus. I hear again. My mind stirs in recognition. Ooh, Scully's back, I hear myself think. Then I remind myself about the wall. Stare at that wall, Mulder. Stare. So, I stare. Suddenly, the task at hand (staring) becomes a little more difficult because of the body standing in front of the path that my eyes have burned in the air leading to the wall.   
  
I finally look up, only to be greeted by a pair of mind-numbing, blue eyes. They are worried. Worried for me. I could kiss those eyes. They are the only eyes in the world that worry for me, and I love them for it.   
  
Mulder? You're okay? she says more gently now that she knows my attention has left the wall.   
  
Yes, of course I'm okay. Just a little bored. I shift into a more comfortable position in my chair, looking up at her. She's beautiful.  
  
I brought you some coffee; looks like you need it. She slides a steaming mug of black coffee in my direction over the cluttered surface of my desk. Some papers flutter to the ground, but they are unimportant.   
  
Did I mention how beautiful this woman is? I snatch the coffee up into my hands greedily, muttering an Oh thank you Scully! You're too good to me!  
  
I know, believe me, I know... I hear her mutter as she turns from me to go sit at the other side of the office. Glancing up, I notice the steam from her own coffee brushing her nose as she drinks. Her sigh of contentment reminds me of a television commercial for Folger's. The best part of waking up...is seeing Scully. I'm a nervous wreck in the morning before I see her stride into the office. She's like a walking, talking, cup of coffee. The most amazing source of caffeine a man could ever wish to know.  
  
What is this, Scully-Appreciation Day? I just can't get enough of her today, I guess. Well, come to think of it, there should be such a holiday. Everyone should get a day off from work and school just to line up and thank Scully for living, for saving their asses, and for being so damn tolerant of me. I wonder how she does it all.  
  
This thought causes me to look back over to where she has begun working. An amazing feat, seeing as I'm having such trouble with it. I was staring at a _wall_ a couple minutes ago. She, on the other hand, is doing her job. I should be following suit, but now she's distracting me with that shiny hair of hers.  
  
The first day I saw her, I didn't like her much. I mean, she had come to debunk my entire life's work, to spy on me. How could I like that? I had toyed with the thought that her hair was green, since I really couldn't tell on account of my red/green color-blindness. Of course, I knew all along that it was red, but I was just angry that this young little thing was invading my basement office just to destroy everything in it. I needed something to make me feel a little better about the whole situation. Because she was not ugly (she was far from it, to my dismay), I told myself she probably had green hair. It made me feel better, just as I had hoped. I would never entertain the thought now. No, now I like to imagine it a brilliant, coppery, crimson. If there is such a thing--I wouldn't know. I know that blood is described as crimson, but I have never truly seen blood. Perhaps that is too red a red to be a hair color, but I suppose that that all doesn't matter. All I know about Scully's hair is that it is shiny and captivating. It gleams a bright white in the sun and a sheer gray under the office fluorescents. It smells amazing, too. Is nothing about this woman amazing? Am I so bored today that I can't do anything but think about all the wonderful aspects of my partner? If so, then I've got the entire day covered. There is so much about Scully that I could easily think about her until the sun sets. But that's just sick. No man should do that, although any man would be able to. Just look at her. No Mulder, don't look at her. Do work.  
  
Okay, I'm doing work. I'm looking through the files on my desk. I looked through them yesterday, but who cares? I can always look at them again. Let's rearrange them alphabetically instead of chronologically, shall we? There. Not so hard, seeing as there were only five folders. I glance at my watch. 10:50?! This day is never going to end. I am doomed to sit here and... Ooh, let's stare at the wall again. That was fun.  
  
Mulder, did you get the... Mulder?! She's caught me staring. I swivel my head towards Scully before she yells any louder for me. I'm not in that deep of a trance, yet. No need for that yelling.  
  
Yes, Scully?  
  
You were doing it again.  
  
I'll pretend that I don't know what she's talking about. Fun game.  
  
Looking at the wall as if you think it might do something if you look long enough.  
  
I was doing no such thing.  
  
Oh, you were too. Go back to work. She turns back to what she was doing. I give up my game early. I'm just not in the annoying-type mood today.   
  
I give up, I'll work. I put the five folders still on my desk back into chronological order. After picking up the stray papers off the floor and shuffling the mess around my desk, I stand.  
  
I'm going to go pick up something from the cafeteria. Want anything? I ask. She mutters a No thanks, while keeping her head turned down over her work.  
  
In the elevator, it hits me that I'm free for at least ten minutes to do whatever I want. In the confines of the building, of course. I'll skip the cafeteria and probably just wander around the halls. The elevator stops and a couple agents climb on board. I don't recognize the younger of the two. He glances at me and I catch his eye, so he turns quickly away. I look over at the lit-up number three, but out of the corner of my eye I can see him watching me. The doors slide open and I step off, only to find that he's right behind me. I'm being followed. Okay, no problem, I can throw this creep off. I'll head to the restrooms and knock him out with the butt of my gun, maybe shoot him in the back of the neck; maybe I'll try both, just one after the other. Don't want to accidentally kill a human, but don't want him to kill me, either.   
  
I notice that my follower is heading down the other hallway, having found a friend; they're both laughing together about something. Maybe about some paranoid freak the younger guy saw on the elevator ride up? Yeah, probably. They enter an office door.   
  
Okay, so I feel a little silly now. I was ready to kill that poor guy in the bathroom, or knock him unconscious at the very least. Well, it's not completely my fault. I blame my job. Sometimes I've got myself in crazy G-Man-mode when there is really no need. My policy: You never know. People like to think that I was born paranoid, and maybe I was, but it's mostly the job that did it to me. The whole thing is just stressful; stress does something to you over the years. It warps how you think, how you do things. For instance, my gun. I _always_ have my gun with me, whether it's sitting in its shoulder holster, warm against my body, or lying cold and alone on my bedside table. Before I mysteriously acquired that waterbed in my apartment, it stayed on the table by my old leather couch. I even have my little gun hidden by my ankle, just in case. The stress, plus the enemies I have managed to make, plus the people I don't even know about who are out there trying to get me (or Scully), plus the non-people (which I still insist are out there), make for a dangerous lifestyle. As a result, it makes you seem a little more paranoid than your everyday Joe. And so I have my guns, my protection. I have Scully, too, for whom I am very grateful to have watching my back. I also have the responsibility of watching her back, of course, although it doesn't seem like a responsibility to me. Other agents and their partners treat keeping each other safe as a responsibility, but not me. Even if Scully left (God forbid), or something caused us to no longer be partners in the FBI, I would still do my damnedest to keep her out of harm's way. I would risk my life, even die, for her. Of course, the one thing that would keep her safe permanently would be having her leave the X-Files. I could make her leave me behind and force her to pursue a normal life, become a doctor, maybe even find a husband. Ugh, bad thought... No, I want the best for her. She would be safest with that life, with that lucky man. That lucky bastard... I'm getting all worked up thinking of a man that doesn't even exist (yet). Shows how stable I am... But no matter how much I want to send Scully off to that better, safer, perfect life, I know that she would resent me, somehow. She insists that she wants to be here, standing by my side, fighting. I used to refer to this whole thing as my cause, but I see now that it's _our_ cause. I cannot send Scully away from it because she is fighting as much for the truth as I am. She's willing to take the risks, the stress, the paranoia, everything, for our cause. And, more importantly, we need each other. As much as I would feel better knowing that she was safely away from this hell that we call work, I know for a fact that I would never accomplish anything without her. I would probably die, or get myself into something even worse than that, and then where would all of our hard work have gotten us? Nowhere. It would be a waste. The truth would still be out there, elusive as ever. Yes, I need Scully. I need her to be safe, so I keep her as safe as is humanly possible. All of that because we both need to find the truth. That's what we are currently living for.  
  
With this last thought, I turn on my heels and head back to the elevator. Back to my basement. Our basement. I walk in, a smile on my face. I'm standing so far above her, bent over those papers.  
  
Hey, Scully? She looks way, way up at me. Thanks for everything. Oh, and for the coffee, too. Just, thanks. Even though I suddenly realize how stupid I must sound, she smiles graciously at me.   
  
You're welcome, Mulder. You know you are. And thank you, she says softly.  
  
Any time, I respond without quite knowing what she's thanking me for. Then I see that she's thanking me for exactly the same thing I've been thanking her for. Yeah, we've got each other's backs, Scully and I. We're a team, and her part of the team is currently being much more productive than mine. With a sigh, I decide to put an end to my un-helpfulness. I sit down and easily find something constructive to do. That wasn't so hard, now was it? Now to sit still and _do_ it for the next few hours. Maybe we'll take a nice lunch break. Before I know it, I'll be at home, lying on my old couch, gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling.   
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another AUTHOR'S NOTE: please write a response! thanks!


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